


Hell’s Perfect Storm

by weavability



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Betrayal, British, British Slang, Drama, Dream SMP Spoilers, Dream Smp, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gaming, Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP Spoilers (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft, No Smut, Post-Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Roleplay, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Spoilers, Twitch - Freeform, Video, Video Format: Streaming, YouTube, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28585152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weavability/pseuds/weavability
Summary: TommyInnit has fucked up big time. After the train wreck that was January fifth’s second festival of L’manberg (how do these damn things keep going wrong?), he’s realized that he’s made a few mistakes— okay, a LOT of mistakes— and many people, namely Technoblade, are not very happy about it. Accusations have been thrown around, Sapnap and Niki are reluctant to work in his company (and AGAINST Dream), and he still has to have that conversation with Tubbo.After the chaos, though, and even amidst preparations for yet another war... Tommy is wrecked. He can’t believe what he’s done. The person he’s become is not the person he ever wanted to be.This one shot tells (part of) the tortuous tale of Tommy, the boy who was called Theseus. He has some serious thinking to do.
Relationships: Antfrost & Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream & Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Hell’s Perfect Storm

**Author's Note:**

> (forewarning: all writing will be with proper capitalization! trigger warnings at the end of the note.) 
> 
> hi, guys! my name’s rin. i’ve been writing for years, but i’m new to the mcyt fanfiction scene. however, the festival today (january 5th) inspired me and gave me muse. i figured i’d write a quick one shot from tommy’s perspective since so many people seem to be angry that he betrayed techno. depending on what happens tomorrow with dream & techno vs. l’manberg, i may write a follow-up chapter to this work. thank you for reading! leave kudos or a comment if you’d like.
> 
> trigger warnings include:  
> — anxiety attacks  
> — heavy themes such as suicidal tendencies/wishes (in reflection)  
> — strong self hatred  
> — emotional turmoil/heavy angst

_Oh my fucking god, we’re all gonna die._

Unfortunately, this was the first thing to cross Tommy’s mind as soon as his enemy and former captor Dream escaped from L’Manberg with both of his infamous music discs, Cat and Mellohi (and The Blade himself, to make matters even worse). Several events have passed since this moment, but still, it replays in his mind over and over like a skipping record, taunting him from the inside. What’s he going to do? He’s fucked things. Usually _he’s_ the one going around telling _other_ people they’ve fucked things, but god, he’s really gone and done it this time. This is a _real_ problem now. It’s a real problem that’s been caused, for the most part, by him and him only.

However, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to do about it. Despite his strong speech to half (if not more) of the population of L’Manberg, he’s not doing any better. Jittery and dreadful are the two words that best describe his state. He feels compromised, even though he’s physically fine. Of course he’s physically healthy. Techno made sure of his physical wellness, looked after him, and Tommy abused it. God, he’s ruined everything— it’s all such a huge mess now that he doesn’t even know where to _begin_ fixing it.

Niki doesn’t trust him. Actually, he doesn’t think a single one of them does, not even Tubbo, and it makes sense, of course it makes sense. After everything, it checks out that everyone would be a little wary of the idiot boy who always fucks things up. At the same time, though, it fucking hurts. None of them _visited._ None of them _cared._ He was alone in exile (the word alone is painful to think), alone with Dream, and nobody swooped in to save him when Dream manipulated him, blew up his new home, and then expected him to stay loyal. Tommy knows better now, though, or at least he thinks he does. Tommy knows that Dream is a manipulative asshole who just wants to spin things to his advantage. All Dream wants is the upper hand.

Right?

He’s not Tommy’s friend still, is he?

 _God, no, Tom, come on,_ he thinks to himself, taking the shameful steps back to his old house, where he plans on moving back in. _He’s not your friend. He never has been. He was there to watch you and nothing else, because he was scared of you. He needed to control you, and he tried, and he failed. We’ve been over this, Tommy,_ he scolds himself. _Dream doesn’t give a shit about you._

And neither does Techno. Techno was only ever a business partner. He said it thousands of times, and Tommy ignored it, thinking he could change that. _We can move past that, we can have a bond,_ he assumed, but he was wrong in that. Techno never wanted _friendship._ Techno never wanted him for his _personality._

 _I’m starting to think that maybe you’ll be useful, Tommy._ That’s what Techno said. Maybe he would be _useful._ Was Techno planning to _use_ him that whole time? Was Techno going to do exactly what _Dream_ did? The two claim not to like each other, but they’re more similar than they realize, and it scares the shit out of Tommy now that neither of them are by his side anymore. It’s painful to think that maybe Techno never cared about him all along. After all, broken down to his key components, he is just a man who craves chaos and destruction, isn’t he?

Fuck, he can feel himself shaking as he walks down the path. His hands curl into fists to avoid the involuntary movement— to avoid showing the weakness. He can’t help shaking, though, not while he’s thinking about all the shit he’s done. Just yesterday he was standing by and just _watching_ as Techno destroyed parts of L’Manberg with a Wither while demanding weapons from Ranboo. And what did Tommy do then? Close to nothing. In fact, he contributed by helping to terrorize residents.

Many mistakes were made, that’s for damn sure. So many that he can’t name them all. And definitely so many that he won’t be able to fix them all, which is the worst part of it.

Realizing that he’s reached his destination, he pushes the thoughts out of his mind temporarily, tugging on the collar of his shirt and swallowing hard as he glances up at the sign above the house that was once his home. It declares that the territory belongs to Connor. Hopefully, though, it’s about to belong to him again soon. Tentatively, he takes a step forward, pushing the door open. _His_ door.

Connor is inside when Tommy enters, and as his head whips around, it becomes clear that he looks nearly as wrecked as Tommy is sure he himself does. A beat of silence passes as they both take a moment to stare at each other, taking each other in. “Hello,” the British boy finally says, clearing his throat right after. It’s quite awkward to talk to someone you very recently took as hostage and then tortured, as it turns out. He can already tell he won’t enjoy this interaction one bit.

“Hi,” Connor replies flatly. He looks almost _scared_ of him, skittish and fidgety, and Tommy doesn’t blame him. Tommy’s scared of himself, too. “So.”

“So,” says Tommy in return. Eye contact has gotten too uncomfortable, so he drops it, staring at the path dug out of the dirt that makes up the floor inside. Not a very tidy house now that he’s been gone so long. “I’m kind of gonna need this place back.” He winces slightly. He can tell how bad this sounds to say. “Because, you know... I’m no longer exiled. Meaning this is now my house again.” Jesus, this is incredibly difficult, as he’s quickly coming to discover.

“You got evicted,” Connor murmurs, but the rest of his sentence dies on his lips. He’s pale. He’s intimidated.

Tommy thinks about what he’s done and holds back tears. He won’t cry here, not now. Never in front of someone. “Not... not _willingly.”_

“That’s not what eviction is, it’s...” Connor, clearly flustered (and not in the good way), gives up trying to explain. “Look. I’m still kind of dealing with all the trauma from when you and Technoblade, you know...” _Yeah, I know,_ thinks Tommy, pained at remembering the partnership between himself and Techno. “Well, you _kidnapped_ me and all that,” Connor continues. “And that’s kind of... Well, it really really wasn’t great, I’m sure you can imagine that much. So if you could just...”

Connor doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t need to to cause any damage. The emotions have already come. Guilt drops onto Tommy’s shoulders like a ten ton weight, and he slumps forward slightly, feeling like he’s going to collapse right then and there. Of course Connor is still coping. Tommy remembers what he did, or at least helped do— the waterboarding, the interrogation, the keeping Connor on a leash and using him as a bargaining chip. He’s not stupid (though many would care to debate this fact). He knows the damage he’s caused. “Yeah. Uh. About that, Connor, I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Connor interrupts, his expression guarded and his eyes glued to some other (apparently very interesting) piece of the wall. “I think that would just make it worse, honestly, because... well, Tommy, I know you’re not _really_ sorry.”

“Right.” Tommy sucks in a breath, not caring to argue even though he didn’t agree. _Yeah, I_ am _sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m really really truly genuinely sorry, and this is all my fault, and I don’t know what to do, and nobody is around to help me anymore, so by now I kind of just want to die so it’ll all be over._ But he could never say any of that. “Um, well...” Yeah, that’ll have to do. _Fuck._

“Where am _I_ going to live?” Connor asks instead of letting the uncomfortable stammering live on. “If you take your house back, where do you want _me_ to go? I moved in here already, I called it my home base. I have nowhere else.”

Tommy leans out the front door, searching rapidly for a solution. He scans the horizon, the houses. There are so many structures he doesn’t recognize, and a bitter pang in his heart reminds him that it’s his own fault. “There’s a place just across the path that nobody ever uses, anyway,” he suggests quickly upon catching sight of the small building. “In exchange to let you live, you can just move into there, and—” He quickly falters, realizing what he’s said based on Connor’s stricken expression and increasingly anxious mannerisms. “Fuck. No, I didn’t mean— that was just habit, I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t— You have to understand, I’ve been around _Techno—”_ the name is venom on his lips, and it’s painful to speak aloud— “quite a lot, and I haven’t really adjusted back to—”

“I understand just fine.” Connor’s cold gaze pierces him, strikes him through the heart three times over. Tommy’s eyes water, and he blinks back the pain. He always does. “I’ll be out of your way soon. Just give me a second,” says Connor, and Tommy goes back to feeling like an idiotic piece of shit.

“Okay.” The British half of the two falls silent, backing against the wall as Connor gathers his belongings to carry with him. How many others has Tommy done this to? How many other innocent people has he terrorized? Fundy is the first person to come to his mind, and instantly, the guilt is a thousand times worse. Fundy _cried_ yesterday, tears born of a fear that Tommy had created. _God damnit. I’m a fucking monster._ As Connor moves for the door, Tommy’s lips part again. He leans forward, his arm coming up. “Connor, I really didn’t mean to—”

The other immediately flinches away, _hard,_ and it stops Tommy dead in the middle of his sentence. He’s messed up beyond repair now. “Just don’t— don’t talk to me, please,” says Connor worriedly (ducking his head away from Tommy’s line of sight to hide the embarrassment that originated out of fear), and it’s the worst rejection Tommy has felt in a long, long while, even though he barely knows Connor, because he really _feels_ it. Deep in his bones, he can feel the shame eating him alive and swallowing him whole until he’s nothing more than a pile of ashen guilt. All he can do is nod to Connor, who shuts the door quickly behind him.

And now Tommy is in solitude again. _How_ does this keep happening to him?

Carefully, he lifts the top of a nearby chest. There are several of his old possessions, including stacks of cobblestone. Everything is almost exactly the way he left it. Tommy gathers wool and planks from his supply chest, and carefully, he fashions himself a bed to lie on. He’s back home.

But this doesn’t feel like home.

Even though he has his house back, he’s living back in the land he’s been trying to get back into for ages... Theres something bittersweet about this now that Dream and Techno are bound to destroy their territory.

He knows that whatever side wins, he’ll probably end up either behind bars or dead. He sealed his fate with all the bad decisions he’s been making for weeks now. It’s only right, of course, it’s only fair for the bad things to happen to him, but he’s terrified anyway.

So many people hate him, and he doesn’t know how to turn it around. So many people want him gone again, maybe exiled again, but he can’t, no, he just can’t. He can’t afford to be gone. If he’s gone, and Dream _gets_ him again, captures him like some kind of prize pony... He’ll show him off, flaunt it, gloat... Nobody will come to visit... Tommy will have no one again.

 _Oh, god._ He doesn’t know his knees are going to buckle until they do, and now he’s crumpling in on himself on the ground, the thoughts becoming too loud for his aching mind. Tommy _already_ has no one. He had Techno, and he _fucked it up,_ and now he doesn’t have anyone at all. Fuck’s sake, he can’t fathom all this. It’s too overwhelming. He can’t have _no one._ He can’t possibly be alone. _Let’s put our differences aside to save L’Manberg,_ he said. It was him who actually said it. However, he still finds himself dwelling on the past. And he’s not thinking about others wronging him, not now. No, he’s thinking about everything he’s done to get to this point, everything that led up to his complete alone-ness.

He’s such a terrible person. He can realize that much, at least. His breath catches, hooks on that line, and he feels like he can’t take another. No, not can’t— shouldn’t. He could take another breath if he wanted, but he feels like he _shouldn’t._ He shouldn’t get the _privilege_ of another breath. This is his fault. His reign of terror is over, and this is the aftermath. He’s the one who’s going to get L’Manberg destroyed.

And when this country falls to pieces, whether it be tomorrow or years from now, he wants so desperately to go down with it.

 _No. Come on, Tommy, you’re strong. You’re the Big Man. You’re cool, you’re awesome, you’re the best one here. You don’t need to be thinking like this. You’re better than everyone. You survived this long, you can’t give up now. You can’t end things here. You matter._ But that’s not true, not anymore. He only means something when someone else is there to prove it. As Wilbur’s right hand man, he meant something. As Dream’s pet, he meant something. As Techno’s _business partner,_ he meant something.

On his own, he is nothing.

Tommy is nothing.

He sits up the best he can, though the tremors that have sent him to the ground are ongoing. Of course he still shakes, even harder than before. His chest feels tight. But he’s taken another breath, and that’s a good way to start, right? Carefully, he uses the wall for leverage and gets to his feet, feeling the unfamiliar ache in the back of his throat that means tears are soon to come. If he stays here and cries, someone will find him. He needs somewhere else to let everything out. He needs somewhere hidden if he’s going to pour his soul out into the open, make himself vulnerable in a way he hardly ever dares to.

He pushes his door back open and exits his house in L’Manberg, weary eyes locking on the slowly setting sun. As he’s trudging along the beaten path, the thought strikes him again: he _doesn’t deserve to live._ So many people would love to see his head roll. So many people would quickly give the order for his execution.

Tubbo hasn’t done that... yet. Honestly, it’s a bit surprising. Tommy guesses he probably will soon, if L’Manberg still exists after tomorrow. He forces himself to keep walking, all the while considering the events of today over and over again. Tubbo _isn’t_ a bad president. A little timid, and maybe easily pushed around like Dream mentioned, but whose fault is that? Tubbo’s been following orders all his life. He’s not used to being the one giving them. He may be young and inexperienced, but he’s a better leader than Schlatt could ever even dream of being.

And even if Tubbo _does_ start to grow into the next Schlatt, Tommy will still love him dearly. He can’t stand being apart from him, and he’s so _angry_ — at both of them, really, Tubbo and himself. It was supposed to be them until the end. That was their agreement. They were supposed to stick together _forever_. And each of them made mistakes that led to that bond breaking.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to fix things between he and Tubbo, but he certainly hopes he can— not only because he misses him so badly that it physically hurts, but also because _Tubbo is all he has left._

If he can’t repair his friendship with Tubbo, Tommy is completely and totally _alone_ , the predicament that he _just_ had a meltdown over on his own floor. And if he’s alone, then he _really_ might get executed for all his crimes, his countless felonies— with no Techno to save him, no Dream to puppeteer him, and no Wilbur to defend him (even if the last one did end up going crazy and the other two always were). Does he deserve that punishment? That’s objective. He can’t judge that himself, but...

Yes. He _does_ deserve it. One hundred percent, he deserves it. With every bone in his pathetic, monstrous little body, he deserves it. He knows he deserves to die. He _knows_ there’s no reason for him to live anymore. Nobody has any reason to keep him alive.

And yet.

His sole purpose now is to defend L’Manberg. He’s putting his last life on the line, like he had told the _real_ residents of the country. And if he loses it? Well, he’s only got himself to blame. They’ve got a reason to keep him alive as long as he fights for this country: he is one more soldier among the ranks. He is two more helping hands amid the destruction. He is three more positive affirmations to those who need it, and he is four more war cries ringing out on the battlefield. They’ll let him live as long as he fights with all he’s got— and at this rate, he’s got nothing better to fucking do, does he?

He sighs, finally coming across a bench he can use as a resting place. Thank god for that; the tears are building up faster than he can prevent them now, threatening to spill over. He places his jukebox, digging around to see if he has a disc on him, and then he remembers. “No jams today, folks,” he mumbles to himself. “Tune in next time to see if Tommy can escape his doom yet again.” Only his wretchedly awful sense of humor can save his emotional state now, or so he assumes.

But the tears come rolling anyway, and as his thin (and frail?) body drops down onto the bench, they come harder and harder until his lanky frame shakes with sobs. Until he doesn’t feel human anymore. He sets his face in his hands as hot tears run down his cheeks, burning new tear tracks into his skin, wrecking him from the inside out, blurring the descending sun into a hot mess of indiscernible colors. That’s what he is now, if colors can represent emotions like some kind of primary school analogy shit. He’s a hot mess, a melting pot of self hatred and shame, and he doesn’t know if he’ll find a foothold that he can use to climb out of the hole he’s dug himself.

 _This is bollocks._ And for a second, he makes himself giggle. But it dissolves into pure unadulterated pain soon again, and his chest hurts, and with every breath he heaves, with every twisted sob that falls off of his lips, he hates what he’s done more and more.

Techno is never going to forgive him after this. He said so himself: this is something Tommy _can’t_ undo. He sure as hell hopes he’s made the right decision in switching sides, because he’s now made Techno a permanent enemy. No longer will there be playful banter as they run to sneak into L’Manberg. No longer will they share potions, armor, and golden apples. No longer will they visit their dog army in the sewer system.

Two brothers down, none left to go.

Maybe this is for the better, though. With Techno, he hurt innocents. He terrorized civilians like Connor and Fundy. He made messes he may not ever be able to recover from. Techno’s motivator is anarchy, and Tommy tried to fit in with that life, but he knows now that he can’t. He’ll never be able to do that right. Destroying L’Manberg is _Techno’s_ dream, not Tommy’s. Tommy has never wanted this. He’s never wanted another _fucking_ war.

All he ever wanted were his discs back... and Tubbo back, too.

The sun disappears under the horizon, leaving only shining stars, and Tommy is still feeling all the pain he’s caused everyone else, beating himself up for all the dumb fucking decisions he’s made. As night falls peacefully over L’Manberg like a warm blanket for perhaps the last time ever, Tommy stares with teary eyes out over the country’s buildings and he sobs without abandon, hard enough to give himself a headache, and wails into the night. Because who could possibly hear him here? There’s not a soul around, not chance in the world he’ll be discovered. Everyone is getting ready, and he should be with them. But when your hands are shaking too hard to hold even an apple, there’s not much preparation you can do.

The gift of death kisses hisforehead gently, and the curse of life pats his left shoulder, ghosting down along his arm. Neither come too close, though, for Tommy is on the fence between life and death. The two forces of nature fight over him without abandon, each debating over what would cause him more pain.

He whimpers, helplessly.

Another breath comes from him as he convinces himself that he’s allowed to take it, and he drags an arm across his face, clenching his jaw. He needs to be working. He won’t sleep tonight, that’s for sure, and in those hours that he doesn’t rest, he needs to be doing something productive. Sitting and crying alone on a bench as the beautiful sun sets won’t do him much good, now, will it? If someone _were_ to stumble across him here in the midst of a full blown mental breakdown, no one would trust him to be the kind of leader in this fight that he _wants_ to be. Nobody would believe that he’s strong enough to handle this situation.

 _I’m not. I wasn’t_ made _to handle this. I’m only sixteen. I want to live. I want to learn how to love again. Please, I just want my life back. I just want someone on my side. Why can’t I just have a_ real _friend?_ But these are all things he’ll never gain if they don’t _win_ tomorrow. They have to emerge victorious or all is lost. If they don’t step out as winners, Dream and Techno will kill everyone they can and throw the rest in jail.

They _have_ to win.

Tommy stands, picking his desolate jukebox back up from the ground. The discs mean nothing to him now. Cat and Mellohi are useless in a war, especially if they’re in Dream’s possession. What’s he going to do? Try and use them _against_ Tommy? He can’t, not if Tommy swears to himself not to care. And in the tense meeting earlier where he finally switched back to L’Manberg’s side, he lied. The discs were never worth more to him than Tubbo.

Tubbo is the most important thing, and that’s all Tommy has to go off of now. His actions may have been heinous and his words even worse, but he’s banking on Tubbo’s acceptance of the peace he’s offering. If they can work together, as disgustingly cheesy as it sounds, he’s convinced they can all do this.

He takes a few steps back onto the path, his feet carrying him forward. As long as he keeps moving, he will be okay. As long as he stays on his feet, and as long as he busies himself, nothing can bring him down. As long as he forgets the pain, blocks it out like the irrelevant emotion it is and doesn’t tell anyone he’s hurting, it won’t bother him again. If he refuses to acknowledge the ache in his demeanor, all it can do is haunt his mind, and if he’s distracted, then he won’t notice the haunting.

Once again, he wipes his teary eyes, glancing down at himself afterward. No armor, like the good old days. He took off his full Netherite earlier to contribute it to the chests full of supplies for the war tomorrow. How ironic that that very Netherite came from Techno’s supply.

Gone are the days of throwing all of his shit into a hole and standing by as Dream destroys it. Gone are the contemplations of suicide, standing on the edge of a pit of lava and then at the top of a tall tower in the island of his exile. Gone are the times he’s stuffed in a box and hidden away from Dream. Gone are the days of invisibility potions and secret tunnels in the sewers.

He no longer has Dream nor Techno on his side, but he has a whole country’s population to work with if he behaves right, and he has Tubbo’s command to go off of. Those two things might be the key to success. Dream and Techno are far outnumbered, and even if they _are_ the two strongest in the country, Tommy knows he can take them down. L’Manberg still has a chance.

Tomorrow better be— will be— _has_ to be— the day Dream dies and the day Techno is the one to feel the pain he always inflicts. It will be hell’s perfect storm, and Tommy will be damned if _he_ doesn’t play a key fucking role.


End file.
